My World of Poems
by goldenpuon
Summary: A collection of various poems, one per chapter .
1. Poem 1: Cooking on High

I've written a lot of fanfics and other stories but never a poem. This one was inspired by how my mom cooks eggs. The meaning is in there but meant to be very vague.

Also, since I am not familiar with poem format, feel free to offer constructive critism on grammar for my poems.

That's it. Enjoy! :)

**Cooking on High**

Flames burning, water boiling, steam rolling.

Burnt, singed, about to explode.

On four-hundred and turned up with more fire.

A bird's product, the outer shell the only thing in the way of the eminent bomb.

Blue blaze rippling until no moisture remains.

The temperature rises, the only protection tested and weakened.

Suddenly, cool moisture saturates the parched remains.

Water, the cook has made a fatal error.

BOOM!

All hope is lost.

Dinner is destroyed and a trip to the doctor is in order.

Read your cooking manual. Unless you want to be charred by a homemade bomb.


	2. Poem 2: A Survivor

Poem 2 already here!

**A Survivor**

Flying through water, gliding on ice.

A bird by nature yet never living up to its name.

The tallest of its kind and of the oddball group it belongs to.

The water, the ice, the frigid nothingness at the tops of the Earth.

Its home.

Dressed in black and white.

A good parent, a fisher.

Living half in darkness and half in light.

Unwary of humans.

For no one dares visit its domain.

Inhospitable, yet it is home.

Few dare go but those who do risk it all.

Yet the bird, the slow one, the waddling one, the odd fellow braves it all.

It thrives. For the coldest, darkest place on the world known to man belongs to it.

It lives in Anarctica and it is the Emperor Penguin.

A atypical survivor that goes where no one else can.


	3. Poem 3: Blind to the Light

Poem 3

This was inspired by a almost completely blind girl I knew in school a few years back. Despite her impairment she was happy, a fabulous writer (perhaps heightened by only being able to read about what others can see), and a very kind. I was thinking about how people (I was sort of generalizing here on people that can see) do not see the good things in life when they have so much.

I hope my generalizing in this poem does not come off as offensive. But I find it true in many cases and feel like people like the girl I knew have a lesson to teach.

**Blind to the Light, Light to the Sun**

It comes in day, bright on the horizon.

Yet some don't see life in this way.

Yet some, though few, are incapable.

Brightness never to be seen.

Versus color never chosen to be seen.

Shades of white, gray, and black: a deer's perspective.

When danger emerges from the shadows, it's fight or flight, life or death.

Yet the deer lives in a world of light.

Without the sun a deer is blind.

Without hope, we are blind.

The physically incapable, the deformed and ill.

The sightless and helpless.

Born as such or by effect of a horrible accident.

They see without their eyes, without the sun.

The most hopeful, the most dreamy, the most motivated to make something of their lives.

Feeling, absorbing the warmth of the sun.

Hope and light burns in the blind like not in the sighted, for they have more those with the gift of vision.

Not by ability but by dreams, shining as a lone star in the dark brighter than most out there.

Possession of insight, happiness, and light the naturally sighted lose through a broader view.

For to lose something, one can gain more.


	4. Poem 4: Ocean for Life

Poem 4

This poem is pretty clear. It's about a drowning victim. It is pretty sad/depressing. However I think it is a nice piece of work. Enjoy!

**Ocean for Life**

Raging wind, swirling foam.

Like a cyclone, I turn around and around.

I am sure I am about to die.

My once buoyant life support, gone, somewhere deep in the cold dark seas.

The salt hurts my eyes, the current chokes me.

Swimming in the ocean, life a blur.

Oxygen.... My last breath before I sink like the Titanic.

Falling... falling blackness.

A warm slippery body. A dull pain in my arm.

Small teeth, a jaw like a beak.

It drags me, it brings me back up.

The world is spinning, my vision, full of purple dots and a dim world before me.

I lay limp as I am carried, through waves, into the night.

I see civilization by a beach, near yet still far over the horizon.

I near it but now I begin to fade.

Passing, passing, leaving.

And then I depart for good for Mother Ocean is not a place for me to live a moment more.


	5. Poem 5: To a Friend of the Free

Poem 5

I wrote this with Little Creek and Spirit from Spirit: Stallion of the Cimmaron in mind and the bond the two shared in the movie. I also wrote this in a slightly different format hoping that it would be more correct as far as how poems are written. Let me know what you think.

**To a Friend of the Free**

Over the field, through the trees.

It flies... soars... follows the path of the wind.

Below it, thundering, spiriting.

A horse.

A spirit follows.

Never does he stop.

The horse, the stallion, races the eagle.

Over every obstacle, every obstruction.

A dangerous challenge, but to him more a game.

Still, as he gallops after the eagle, he never forgets...

The rope that choked him.

The sinking feeling of being broken.

The lash of the whip.

Or the call of man.

Yet, he remembers a shining friendship.

The one free spirit.

The one willing to accept and allow freedom.

Little Creek.

The stallion never will always remember him.

Little Creek.

A man with spirit equal to his as he races the soaring eagle into the sunset.


End file.
